Do Not Stand By My Grave & Weep, I Am Not There I Do Not Sleep
by HoneyYouShouldSeeMeInACrown
Summary: When John is lost in time Sherlock's plans to return to him are accelerated using help from an impossible source (Unbeta'd)


It had become a familiar path, familiar and loathful yet John constantly made it, he needed to make it. Even on clear days like this the uneven terrain played havoc with his aching leg, the limp a constant these days. It had returned with a vengeance ever since the fall. He'd grown even more hateful of the limp than he had been before knowing for certain that it was psychological, but without his crutch...without Sherlock, he couldn't seem to shake it.

John winced as he began the most challenging part of the walk, descending down the steep hill whilst trying desperately not to fall. His gaze dropped to the ground as he stumbled a little, cursing as his cane caught upon the roots of a nearby tree.

Piercing blue eyes gazed sadly at the man struggling his way across the cemetery longing to rush to his aid and better yet reveal himself, to take the pain from his weary face, the phantom pain from his aching leg...but that would surely mean the former soldiers death. No. He had to take out the web first, it would be the only way to keep John safe. Short term pain for long term gain. With a resigned sigh he leant against a nearby tree and continued to watch over his best friend, guilt weighing down his aching heart.

John breathed in shakily as a familiar mound of black rock loomed up before him, the gold name embossed upon it sending daggers into his heart as it always did. Shivers ran through his body as he staggered closer, his eyes falling shut for the briefest moment as he pulled on his soldiers mask, the blur shifting beside him missed during the temporary blackness.

"God I can't believe it's been a year since you..." John glanced away unable to speak the last word, admitting it out loud was still far too difficult. "I miss you mate. Even the bloody experiments!" His hand trembled as he set it upon the cold rock, his face solemn. "It's too quiet at Baker Street without you, I'll admit that I used to love listening to you play in the night, well when you actually played a tune!" A small laugh emitted, although it was bereft of warmth.

"The Yard are doing horrific without you. Anderson messed up on a case last week. Moved a piece of evidence without checking thoroughly. Luckily they caught the bloke but Greg was furious." One hand snaked through the ever greying hair.

Sherlock leaned closer trying to hear more than the small snippet of words currently reaching him. Quietly he snuck forwards to a second tree, able from this distance to see just how much weight John had lost through grieving. "Oh John..."

"Tried to help Greg on a case the other day. It was a double homicide. A beheading. You'd have loved it. I managed to deduce what the weapon was. You taught me well."

His hand stroked reverently over the stone in silence for several minutes as John got lost within his own thoughts, memories of his time with Sherlock always strongest around his headstone. "...did you ever know?...probably. You probably thought I was stupid..."

Sherlock's brows knitted in confusion, know what...what are you talking about John. He glanced around to make certain no one was around before creeping forwards just a little more, there was a risk of John spotting him if he turned suddenly but his intrigue was overpowering.

"You are...were just so brilliant, I'd never met anyone as amazing as you. I didn't realise it myself until you were gone..."

The detectives expression grew even more puzzled, eyes blinking several times in confusion. His heart began to race in his chest but he could not understand why.

"My therapist says I should say it out loud. That it'll bring me closure." A sceptical laugh escaped him at the thought. "But...I suppose it doesn't hurt to give it ago. Sherlock... " he clenched his hand around his cane several times unaware of the familiar man shifting constantly closer just off to his right. "God you'd have told me to get on or shut up right now wouldn't you? To stop pissing about and just say it. Why is it so hard to admit that I was goddamn in love with you!"

Barely a second after the words had left his lips John felt a strange grip upon his shoulder followed by a pulse as time displaced around him.

Sherlock's hand gripped tightly to the headstone in front of him, knuckles pale white. Love. John loved him. John. He clenched his eyes shut in an effort to still the fluxing thoughts of his mind.

As the pale eyes were revealed once more panic grew in Sherlock's chest. John. Where was John. He scanned the area quickly, mind noting the peculiar statue that now stood where the blonde had mere moments before.

Impossible. Complex equations raced through his mind as the detective tried to figure out just where John had gone. It was impossible for him to be out of sight after such a shirt time. All care for being seen went out the window as he worried for John, he flung his way over several headstones, sprawling to the floor in a lump as he caught his foot on one.

It didn't stop him for long though. The now muddy detective shot to his feet and began to race forwards, only stilling when he reached his own graveside. "John?! Where are you?!" Perhaps hearing a man you thought dead wouldn't be the most soothing sound but Sherlock hoped it would be enough to grab his attention, he had to be near enough to hear it.

He span to face the strange statue taking in every curve and spike of it, particularly the way it's outstretched hand filled him with unease. Slowly he reached out towards it eyelids beginning to fall shut as the need to blink grew overwhelming.


End file.
